


The Lovers

by afrocurl



Category: Veronica Mars (TV), Veronica Mars - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-25
Updated: 2007-02-25
Packaged: 2017-11-06 20:49:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/423043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afrocurl/pseuds/afrocurl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Art is not the only source of imitation and exploration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lovers

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a vm-library challenge about anonymity (or something to that effect, it's been years.)

*~*~*  
  
  
Logan sighed as the last pulses of orgasmic pleasure ebbed from his body. He immediately removed his blindfold and nestled next to his girlfriend, kissing her shoulder. Her blindfold slid down a moment later, but neither could bring themselves to move, sated. Neither looked at each other.  
  
“How’s that for intimate?” she asked.  
  
*~*~*  
  
“Tell me again why I drove three hours, with traffic, for this exhibit?” he asked impatiently as they stood in front of a large cut-out of a man wearing a bowler hat ushering them into the museum.   
  
“Because you love me, and we’re trying to do things differently this time,” she replied quietly, not wanting the elderly couples around them to hear. “Plus, you said we could do something _I_ wanted to do this weekend. Magritte, something very interesting that I wanted to see.” She nodded, looking above her at the cut-out. “Not something you see every day in Neptune,” she added.  
  
“That’s _true_ , but this also isn’t an exhibit I can really get behind. Surrealists just stand as the _truly_ pretentious artists, if you ask me.” He waved his hands around the cut-out. “This,” he said, pointing, “is part of the problem.”  
  
“Says the son of two _actors_. Magritte is not _that_ pretentious, I’ll have you know. There are far worse people in the art world.”  
  
“I’m smart enough to know when to appreciate pretension and when not to, thank you very much,” he asserted.   
  
“Of course, you are,” she soothed in gentle placation, patting his hand patronizingly.   
  
“Name me an artist that _you_ think is pretentious,” he challenged, sounding all for the world like a petulant child.   
  
“Jackson Pollock,” she fired back immediately. “And, I wanted to see this exhibit and I know you didn't, and I really _did_ try to find someone else to go with me...but Wallace had practice and Mac can't detach herself from Bronson for more than an hour at a time.” Veronica rolled her eyes.  
  
He regarded her warily. “You mean I wasn’t the first person you wanted to take to this? I’m hurt, Mars.”   
  
“If you'll recall, we only got back together a couple of weeks ago, and I've had these tickets since October,” she reminded him patiently. She rose to her tiptoes so that she could whisper intimately in his ear. “I want to be here with _you_ ,” she breathed.   
  
She looped her arm through his, entwining their fingers and clinging close to him as they walked from the cut-out towards the entrance of the exhibit.   
  
Logan looked around the open-air plaza of the LA County Museum of Art, and remembered that they were trying to be a functional couple again. The Magritte exhibit was to his left, and the line of people around the glass doors suggested that the exhibit might not be a horrible waste of a Saturday afternoon. He pulled Veronica into his chest as they slowly moved towards the doors and into the gallery. She kept her eyes focused on the front of the line, but constantly moved her fingers in small, slow circles over his arms.  
  
Having their tickets scanned, they entered the showroom, complete with sky-patterned carpeting and a series of pictures of LA freeways on the ceiling.  
  
“Contradictions and we only just entered. Joy!” he chirped.   
  
She slapped him lightly as they moved through the first room, looking at the cigar on the floor and the paintings around the room. She moved to the right and started to look at the artwork around the corner.  
  
Logan regarded one particular painting—not Magritte’s work, but something equally absurd.  
  
“Think the artist knew Lindsay Lohan?” he asked cheekily, gesturing to a painting with a woman’s crotch covered in fire instead of hair.  
  
Veronica shot him a steely look and said nothing. Moving to the next painting, she let her baleful glare suggest that this trip shouldn’t be about stupid jokes.   
  
Shuffling back towards her, Logan put his hands around her small frame and looked at the other works. They moved slowly through the rest of the room, eyeing a palindrome painting and some other works of the Belgian artist.   
  
Logan remained silent, except to comment when she tilted her head thoughtfully at a particular piece that struck her. Of course, _The Treachery of Images_ sparked debate between them about the function of the painting at all, as Logan believed that the purpose of the piece was to suggest the inherent problems of art, while Veronica maintained that it was a social commentary on the fallacies society believes to be true.   
  
She was smiling after the discussion, and it occurred to Logan that she had him exactly where she wanted him—caught, hook, line and sinker. While he would never admit to her that he found her quirky art fetishes and boring poetry recitals to be even the slightest bit interesting, he didn't want to be anywhere else.   
  
As they moved through the rest of the exhibit, Logan found himself more and more intrigued by the diversity of Magritte's collection. He dropped the cocky façade to argue passionately with Veronica about the value of the artwork. He objected to other artists mimicking Magritte’s work, but then again, he had always been a snob.   
  
Logan mocked the foot standing in the middle of the floor, and then suggested that _Time Transfixed_ was nothing more than a train coming out of a fireplace. He could see that Veronica was visibly biting her tongue as she left the room, flouncing away from him. When he joined her in the largest room of the gallery, he nearly crowed in delight over the phallic symbols within Magritte's work. Though she'd never backed down from an argument before, he supposed that arguing about the use of breasts, crotches, and dicks in a room full of strangers was pushing her boundaries.   
  
Coming into the last room of the exhibit, Logan smiled, bemused, as he observed the strange juxtaposition of pieces. In plain sight of the smaller rooms were some of the more famous paintings in the collection, but Veronica wasn’t paying attention to those at the moment. Her eyes were drawn over toward the left, towards a painting of two people whose faces were covered in pillowcases.   
  
Nudging Logan in the back, she led him over to the painting before stopping to inspect it with more care. She sighed longingly as she studied the immortalized couple.  
  
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” he asked softly, as she titled her head, continuing to look at the painting.  
  
“Just thinking. Even though you can’t see their faces, they look really close. _Intimate_ , even,” she amended.   
  
“Intimate, you say?” he asked, hugging her from behind with more force than before.   
  
She nodded her head in response. Hesitantly, she asked, “What if we tried something like that?”  
  
Moving his head to better look at his petite girlfriend, Logan tried to hide the look of surprise on his face at her comment. “We don't have to do anything crazy. I’m happy with things just the way they are.”  
  
“But what if I _want_ to try it?” She turned in his arms, cupping his cheek in her hand. “I want to trust you, Logan. Maybe...maybe this would be a good way to start. Something different could be exactly what we need.”  
  
He pulled her close again, tucking her head underneath this chin and sighing into her hair. Logan kept his eyes on the painting of the anonymous couple as he thought through her statement. “You really want to try _this_ , though?”  
  
She nodded her head adamantly. “I guess, if these two people can be together without knowing what the other looks like, we can work out something like that. No warts this time.”   
  
Logan smiled slightly before squeezing his arms around her tightly. “No warts,” he affirmed in a whisper. He stayed still for a few more minutes looking at the work before she started to push him towards some of the other pieces.   
  
Forty-five minutes passed, and once Veronica was satisfied with seeing the entire show, the couple exited the exhibit hall, spilling out onto the sidewalk and into the blinding sunlight.   
  
“Is there anything else you wanted to do before we headed back to Neptune? Dinner at The Grove or something else around here?” he asked as she craned her neck to see around the side of the massive building.  
  
“The Grove for dinner sounds nice. Maybe we can spend the night up here?” she whispered huskily, pulling him close against her once more.   
  
Logan squinted as he looked out across the courtyard. “Maybe next time? I want to get home—I don’t really trust Dick in the suite alone.”  
  
Veronica's face fell at the mention of Dick, but she recovered quickly. “I don’t have to be home tonight; I told Dad that we were staying up here tonight after the show.”  
  
“Excellent,” he replied, as they meandered towards the exit to the parking lot, arm-in-arm.  
  
*~*~*  
  
Looking around the room one last time, he carefully observed his girlfriend. She had a silk scarf twirled around her fingers, as she readied it to wrap around her eyes. He looked down at his own hand, letting the cool slip of his own scarf float through his fingers.   
  
Doubt still plagued him as he watched her tie the cloth around her head, but once she finished off the knot, he knew there wasn’t another option for him but to follow. He held off for a moment, though, as he studied her. Without seeing each other, this night was going to be harder than he imagined.  
  
“You sure I can’t wait a little while before I put mine on?” he asked wistfully, pulling her into his arms, nipping at her earlobe. “Just while we kiss?”   
  
“Nice try, but no dice. We’re doing this just like the painting,” she replied. She inched backwards until the inside of her knee touched the edge of the bed, and she eased onto her back on top of the mattress.  
  
Huffing in response, he acquiesced, and tied the band of cloth around his eyes. He sighed as he tried to find his girlfriend on the large bed without hurting her. Hands on the sheets, he patted around the bed, before finally hitting her in the side. She winced and squeaked as his hand landed heavily on her skin.   
  
As he kept his hand on her ribs, he placed a tender kiss on the spot. He moved his hands around her frame. When his hand finally found her stomach, he pulled her closer.  
  
“I love you,” he whispered into her ear, as he eased his fingers over the tender spot where he bruised her a moment before.   
  
She squirmed in response, as she tried to find a better position to accommodate his large body next to her. “I know,” she murmured, before she found his face with her hand. She stroked the side of his cheek. Accidentally, one finger slid into his eye.   
  
“Easy,” he said bitterly, before she left a kiss there to ease the pain. Moving down, she continued to kiss his face. He continued to draw circles around her ribs. Comforting with touch seemed to be the best response in their position.   
  
Kissing him again, she arched up into his body before trying to swing her leg up to mount him. She lacked her normal grace in the situation, but she figured that given the circumstances, he would understand. As her knee hit his thigh, he groaned in slight pain before his mind registered her small hips against his. Instead of a complaint at her position, her movements were met by a low moan in his throat—pain was temporary, after all. Aside from the day at the museum, he hadn’t made any complaints as their relationship rekindled; he wanted everything to be perfect this time.   
  
As the kiss continued, he slowly moved his hands to trace the curve of her slim hips. He rocked her against his body for a moment before helping her straddle him.   
  
His hands roamed up her body and down again, as he tried to make this seduction just like any other. Taking one breast in his hand, he caressed her slowly, making her whimper. She placed feather light kisses along his neck and shoulder blades while leaning over his strong body. Taking her nipple into his mouth, he scraped his teeth along the hardened nub gently, squeezing her other small breast in the solid warmth of his hand.   
  
Veronica began to roll her hips against his, the length of his hardening erection providing the much-needed friction between her legs. She rose slightly and positioned him, then slowly slid down his length, engulfing his cock in her tight, wet heat.  
  
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chanted, as she used the palms of her hands to balance herself on his chest, pushing against him as she rode his cock. She set up a slow rhythm, rocking up and down, his cock sliding in and out until he couldn't stand it any longer. He gripped her hips hard enough to leave bruises, and jerked her into a faster pace. She cried out as she complied, rocking the head of his cock into the sweet spot deep inside her body. It wouldn't be long now.   
  
He continued to mouth her breasts lovingly, teasing her, his hips rising to meet hers on every thrust. Sliding out of her slick heat again, he wanted nothing more than to look at her while he pushed back into her. Instead, he focused on trying to keep the pace they had worked up to, because nothing about tonight was about seeing his girlfriend—he was in darkness, her body was his only map. This whole night had been about trying something different, and he couldn’t help but want to return to the old routine they had established months before. He had to admit that he hated darkness; it reminded him of too many memories—ones that she’d been able to help ease, to a certain degree.   
  
The experience was _different_ , he had to admit, but his heart wasn’t as invested in the lovemaking as usual. Gone was his ability to watch her beautiful face glow in ecstasy when she came, as were the moments when he could look at her smile while they pushed and pulled against and with each other. He realized having a sour attitude defeated the purpose of the experience, and tried to push the lingering doubt from his mind.  
  
Desperate to press his mouth against new skin, he arched up to place a trail of kisses down her clavicle to her breasts again while still keeping the rhythm. Kissing his way along her body was the only thing that remained the same—the only part of this evening that reminded him of nights past. Rhythm, that was all that mattered tonight. _In. Out. Lick. Suck. In. Out._  
  
Nothing else mattered except the sounds from her and the feel of her skin; clinging to those tangible connections, he hoped that this moment was worth it. He felt her breath hitch once, before falling into a steady pattern as he continued to move against her, before changing their rhythm; he needed to have them come together, and he was nowhere near climax. She whimpered at the change in pace, but adjusted herself as hips rolled against hips. His usual gauge of how much longer she would last was denied to him, and with that in mind, he tried to see if any change in position would bring them closer to a shared release.  
  
Different pacing brought her breath out in staccato rhythm, he thrust up into her blindly. Hips moved out of sync with each other, but he continued to push himself into her as she jerked erratically around him.  
  
Moments later, she was panting against his skin and he moved his mouth over hers to quiet her as she reached orgasm. He followed behind her, going rigid, before he sank back down on the bed, trying to slow his racing heart and mind.   
  
Mentally, he knew that this night had been so much more for them, but it still felt like the first time he'd made love to her; his nervous energy about the entire situation finally took over as he realized he had just fucked his girlfriend without seeing her. Try as he did to think that this evening was something that would help them, he still had the lingering feeling that this was only one step in another disaster that was their relationship. Something _new_ didn’t necessarily equal something _better_ , he knew, and he wondered if she felt the same way.   
  
Finally, in a hushed whisper, Veronica uttered the words Logan had longed to hear for so long, and his heart soared. He knew without a doubt, that it hadn't been a mistake.   
  
“I love you, too.”   
  
The last thoughts circling his mind disappeared while he relished in the words still hanging in the air.

**Author's Note:**

> This was the painting that inspired it all: 


End file.
